


Cress Cuspid

by Nyanoka



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Canon ages, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26530207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyanoka/pseuds/Nyanoka
Summary: Children often ask the strangest questions.
Relationships: Kibana | Raihan/Masaru | Victor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Cress Cuspid

**Author's Note:**

> Ah yes...Victor's most popular pair among the Adult trio...I finally have a completed trifecta...though I gotta finish that other KBMS fic I have...it's more serious than this one...

“Why are your teeth so sharp?”

The soft, boyish tinny resounds within the bathroom, voice still high, retaining the distinct markings of childhood, and crisp as spring rain pattering upon a red-tiled rooftop. It isn’t a particularly remarkable question, more inane and a bit nonsensical even with consideration to their current activities, but it comes all the same, a consequence of curiosity.

Nonetheless, Raihan finds himself replying, voice soon joined by the squeak of the faucet and the sound of running tap water. “They just are.” He places a tumbler underneath the stream, liquid falling into clear plastic. “Now, do you want to brush your teeth? It’s getting close to your bedtime.”

Victor frowns, not yet moving from his spot beside the door. “That’s not a good answer.”

“Well, it’s mine.” Raihan hums then as he retrieves a toothpaste tube and toothbrush from the medicine cabinet, door shutting close with a loud click. “Can you grab the stool? It’s to your right, underneath the laundry basket.”

Victor’s frown deepens further, but he thankfully complies, drawing the mahogany stool to sit in front of the porcelain sink, wooden legs scraping loudly on the white bathroom tile, before carefully stepping upon it himself, right foot first and followed by the left.

It is an overly careful motion, odd if he truly considers how often they’ve done this, but it is mundanity, a routine and setting that they’ve both grown accustomed to—the pale light of his apartment’s bathroom, the slight messiness of everything, every bit and piece set upon its place but still ajar, not quite perfectly set in their morning rush and never quite fixed, and always a bit mismatched, towels hanging from the nearby rack, one a ruddy, plain orange and the other dyed a bright red, cotton decorated with cartoonish caricatures of the Galar starters, with other décor similarly clashing.

Though, their routine isn’t quite normal either, for a four-year-old perhaps but not for someone eleven years of age.

Most children are weaned off of this sort of act early, and most wouldn’t enjoy it anyhow—each seeing themselves as too old, too responsible, to let someone else brush their teeth for them.

He isn’t quite sure where Victor stands on it—he isn’t even sure how this particular routine of theirs had started—but he himself doesn’t dislike it, certainly not to the point of disdain or resentment. He’s certain that Victor doesn’t either, even with his propensity for silence and aloofness. He would voice his concerns otherwise.

Turning the faucet’s handle once more and soon setting the filled tumbler onto the sink’s countertop, Raihan quickly unscrews the cap of the toothpaste before squeezing a neat line, white and magenta gel even, onto Victor’s toothbrush and wetting it with a quick dip into the tumbler.

It is a quick, easy affair—after twenty-five years of living, he thinks he can handle something this simple—and one he’s intimately familiar with: the light chill of the floor tiling against his bare feet, the slight creak of the stool as Victor shifts, and the graceful slope of Victor’s neck as he leans slightly forward over the sink, pale shoulders covered by dark blue wool, a nightshirt.

There isn’t much resistance when Raihan presses his fingers underneath Victor’s chin, gently tilting his head upward, or when his fingers soon glide afterward to Victor’s mouth, fingertips barely grazing small, pale lips.

“It still isn’t a good answer,” Victor says suddenly, eyes still looking forward into the mirror.

“Well, what do you want me to say? That I’m a vampire?” Raihan doesn’t move his fingers even as Victor shakes his head slightly in response. “Would that be a better answer?”

“No”—another shake of Victor’s head and a slow blink, drowsiness apparent and sleep impending—”you show up in pictures, a lot of them.”

Raihan couldn’t help but snort at that, at the implications. Really, he understands that Victor is young, but he hadn’t thought that he would believe something like that, something especially foolhardy and more fit for a poorly written penny dreadful than for reality.

“We have a lot of stories about them in Postwick,” Victor continues, voice solemn and serious. “They steal sheep and whisk away naughty children.”

Another laugh leaves Raihan’s mouth, unintended, and Victor’s brow furrows. “Don’t laugh. It’s a serious problem.”

“I think your mom’s just hoodwinking you into good behavior,” Raihan replies. “It’s probably just wild animals or some bored teenagers.”

Victor’s mother probably wouldn’t appreciate his truthfulness—what parent would?—but Raihan couldn’t quite help himself not with how sincere Victor is.

It’s endearing, naïve perhaps, but still endearing how sincere Victor is.

Victor shakes his head. “It’s not. There’s a lot of weird stuff that happens around Postwick, an—”

A yawn interrupts him, noisily reverberating, and Victor rubs his eyes with the back of his hand.

Mm-hmm.” He doesn’t correct Victor then. He knows how stubborn, how superstitious, Victor could be. “Do you want me to brush your teeth now? You sound a bit tired.”

Victor doesn’t reply. He only opens his mouth, revealing even, white teeth.

Gently pulling Victor’s lower lip downward with his thumb with index finger resting against and underneath his chin, Raihan begins brushing Victor’s teeth, toothbrush carefully moving in small circular motions toward the gumline.

Much like with the act of squeezing the toothpaste tube, it isn’t a particularly difficult task nor is it a long one, a quiet two minutes. It’s simply warm—breath fluttering lightly upon his hand, saliva wet upon his fingers, and body heat perceivable because of their close proximity.

After Raihan finishes, he turns on the faucet, handle squeaking loudly, and quickly washes the toothbrush, shaking it afterwards before placing it into a nearby holder to dry and moving to hand Victor the tumbler.

That isn’t a particularly loud affair either, silence once again tinged by the slight creak of the stool and noise joined by the soft swishing of water, fluid soon spit out into the sink and tumbler dumped out and set next to the toothbrush holder.

When Victor finishes, stepping down from the stool, right foot first soon followed by left, his voice is equally quiet, a simple “thank you,” before he pulls the stool back to its previous spot, full laundry basket soon placed atop it once more.

It isn’t a particularly remarkable or even mildly interesting sort of event—Victor is a creature of routine even if he often denies it—but Raihan doesn’t particularly mind nor does he speak. He only follows after Victor into the near-darkness of the adjoining bedroom, light switch flicked off on the way out and bathroom door clicking into place behind them soon after.

Another noise, the creaking of the bed as Victor settles beneath the sheets, body sitting upward and cotton having been pulled over his lap, before Victor speaks again, question not quite as nonsensical as the ones before it but no less odd.

“Can I touch them?”

Raihan doesn’t reply. He only leans downward and forward, bed sinking slightly underneath the weight of his elbows, and opens his mouth.

Victor’s fingers aren’t especially rough, fingertips only moving to prod at at the inside of his mouth, nails scraping lightly against his cheeks and his tongue, and to press at the points of his teeth.

They aren’t especially remarkable either, neither overly long nor overly wide, even as he feels them push further into his mouth and toward the back of his throat, motion not enough to trigger his gag reflex.

Even when they leave his mouth and when Victor leans forward to press his mouth against his, tongue pushing inward to prod against his tongue and teeth and more curious than lustful, he doesn’t move, neither drawing Victor in further or pushing him away. Instead, he only lets Victor continue, curious and odd as always.

It isn’t for a disdain, for discomfort, or even for simply for shock—they’re too familiar for that—but for an excess understanding of his inclinations. Victor, despite his own efforts, has always been odd, quiet, in his affections and his curiosities.

Still, he doesn’t _mind_ of course. Much like with their earlier routine, it isn’t something that he abhors, finds unpleasant. He only waits for Victor to finish, slim tongue warm and wet against his.

After perhaps a minute or two of prodding, Victor withdraws, frowning slightly and not quite satisfied with whatever answer he found. Raihan doesn’t particularly understand _what_ that would even be, but he knows Victor well enough to understand that.

Victor is strange, familiar and intimate even if he never quite explains everything.

Nonetheless, Raihan doesn’t ask nor does Victor explain. Victor only shifts to the side afterwards, bed springs creaking, before looking at him once more, another request that he soon obliges, body soon moving to join him in bed and underneath the sheets.

Victor doesn’t quite explain everything, but there is a familiarity to it and to their routines.

And in that, Raihan finds a peculiar comfort.

**Author's Note:**

> I think there is a quiet sadness and vulnerability in forming a genuine connection with someone else, but it isn't a bad thing necessarily. It's an odd feeling when one memorizes someone else's inclinations and habits. This is a fic rather centered on the ideas of intimacy and connections even if it isn't stated I think.
> 
> It also didn't make it into this fic, but I also think Piers does toothpaste commercials with a shiny Galar Linoone he never uses in-battle and that's the reasoning for the colors. He may be punk, but he cares for the dental health of the children. Also unrelated and more personal headcanon than anything, but I always like to think Raihan is a dark-skinned Asian and Victor's biracial (white and Asian or Galar and Sinnoh?) or whatever the equivalents would be in the Pokemon world. It's not something I "hard" stand by, it's just for fun.
> 
> I am honestly thinking about doing NZMSKB and KBMSDN fics since I want a completed trifecta for them too, and I have like 3 NZMSDN fics already...or maybe fail miserably at writing NZMSKBDN (b/c that is a lot of people for one written nsfw scene tbh unless I make it short). Though I say that if I don't have like 50 other projects planned and 5 WIPs on my hard drive...or maybe my trans!Hilbert/N fic, but I need to be in the correct mood for that one since it has like 20 planned nsfw warnings on it and involves Zoroark!N...maybe that's overhyping, but it's not even my "worse" idea by a long shot. I am a being of unfortunate multitudes...


End file.
